NationStates Jolt Archive

The tiny frigate emerged from space. The Chronosian border. Of course, she had told of her coming, and, if they knew of her coming, they would be there to meet her. They had a propensity for protecting their own, the Chronosians.

It slowed to a halt. Her shields were up, whilst her weapons were not readied, they were powered. Laxity would not help her now. If some stray pirate decided to eat her frigate for breakfast, she could well be in trouble.

It was frightening. She had seen Chaos, in the years before the storm had ended, and it still gave her nightmares.

The frigate slowed to a halt, and a message, suprisingly bile-free for all that she had suffered, whisked off to the Chronosians.

"I am Khaberi Missanian, formerly of Loriiea. I wish to speak to a man I have been told of, one who may aid me. He bears the name Gabriel."

"Ma'am, there's no reply. Are we going to return to the battlefield?"

One of the few Loriieans left, Lubyesk was a confidant of hers. Of course, she hadn't told him everything. Just that she wanted someone else to come in and deliver punishment to the Dratherians. There were other plans forming, ideas rattling around in her head, but nothing she could tell until she could speak with the Chronosian.

Are they testing me? Forcing me to wait for some unfathomable reason?

Her silence worried Lubyesk, and he repeated his question.

She turned, and shook her head. "No, my friend. We will be crossing the border."

"Crossing the border? Into Chronosian space? That's.."

"Precisely as mad as I think I am going."

"But Senator-"

Kill him.

She looked up at him, puzzled.

"What did you say.."

Her voice trailed off, and she seemed to be listening to something else entirely.

He is trying to thwart you! SLAY HIM!

"No, he is a friend."

"Senator, who are you talking to?"

"I-I.."

Her confidence evaporated, and she asked herself the same question. Still. Perhaps voices in ones head were the price you paid when visiting Chronosians. But there was a greater price she intended to exact from her enemies, and no mere voice would stray her from that path.

She strolled over to Lubyesk, and casually tapped his navgrid, sending the ship hurtling into Chronosian space.

"Senator, are you crazy?"

Just as casually, the molecule-thin blade she had been hiding stabbed straight into his eye. Again and again and again, she stabbed him, tearing his flesh with the knife, seeking to expunge some sort of guilt, or anger. Blood streamed onto the floor, as Lubyesk's corpse looked at her with horror.

Good. To kill without remorse is strength.

She flicked the bloodied knife at her unkempt hair, as if trying to flick away a buzzing fly. But, no matter what she did, the voice remained. As it would, from now on.

(Bump, man. Like, totally.)

Madness.

Some who journey into the space of Chronosians see it as a necessary evil, a sacrifice for the great power and allegiences that lie within. Some hear the call of the savage Gods, the whisper of indelible evil. Some become bloodcrazed and feral, some sate their most basic lusts, some sicken and yet find themselves fuelled, new strength pulsing in their veins, others still find their minds expanded, their horizons broadened.

The Imperium had heard their call, waiting, watching, eager to see their intent. Death scented their actions, a sacrifice offered joining the psychic stench of a race laid low, a people annihilated. A call to Gabriel, to the Lord of Apostates, the Master of the Faith.

Speak

A voice rang out through the void, a single communication that pounded at the vessel, calling with a yearning and an eagerness. It called to all who remained, to her especially. Speak. To Khaberi Missanian, formerly of Loriiea. It called. Speak

Speak.

There was no real point in clearing her throat, but she did so anyway.

"I am Khaberi Missanian, once of Loriiea. Daughter to a slaughtered people, Senator of a worthless Republic. I wish revenge, and it has been denied me by those who failed us!"

The knife was quickly whisked away, once again into her sleeve. There were many on the ship, but none had been on the bridge when Khaberi had killed her friend. A man stepped onto the bridge.

"Senator, the message-"

"It has been dealt with. We will find our means to revenge here, soldier. What is your name?"

"Iolos."

"Iolos. Do you desire revenge?"

"Well, yes-"

"Tell me, Iolos. Were you put in command of a battleplate, yours alone to command, above the homeworld of Dratheria, what would you do? Would you fire?"

The questions now all made sense. He had seen, like her, the homeworld destroyed. Who would not destroy those who had fought against them, if they had the chance.

"Yes, Senator. If it cost me my life."

"Good. Iolos, you shall be my new companion when I speak with Chronosia."

She gestured at the corpse of Lubyesk. "He advocated caution. Peace. He was a fool. There is no peace for us."

The ship sped forward, acceleration almost overcoming the inertial compensators. Within the ship, across every mind of the hundred there, came a single, clarion call.

Revenge.

You come to us humbled, but a single ship. You come to us with dreams of vengeance against the hated foe, reeking of death and destruction. You have lost a world, and with it all your dreams, your past lies broken and forlorn.

We can aid you. We can lend our might to your cause, we can break the backs on your oppressors and all we require in return is your supplication. Welcome the Gods into your heart, embrace the power they offer.

You seek to lay low the Dratherians, pathetic mongrels who debase the very ideals that they so idolise. They gratify themselves with small victories, insignificant achievements and all the while pleasure themselves in their own muck and filth, wishing they could be as we are. We chose a different path, a path to glory, glory they are denied. We walk in the favor of the Gods, while they gain nothing from their rotten, silent idol.

Embrace us, join us. And the Dratherians will know pain, they will know fear, they will know blood and death. And they will know humiliation

Join.. Chronosia? But... the notion was not so farfetched. Not anymore.

Join them!

The voice, too, impelled her.

"I will have my revenge. If I must humble myself before Gods who will allow it of me, it is of no moment. There must be blood for what has come upon us. I will serve your Gods. No, my Gods. I know what fools have told of your gods, the terrible Four, yet it is only the babbling of those too cowardly to grasp what they require. Enlighten me."

*bump*

Few asked so willingly for enlightenment. Certainly cultures begged on their knees that they be indoctrinated, to spare themselves the finally dire pronouncements of the Chronosians leading to their own extinction, but too little were those willing offerings, sacrifices given to the whispering Gods of the Warp, the thirsting, laughing Gods of Chronosia.

The void rent itself asunder, flogged into a frenzy of melding Warpspace and reality by the immense flagship that tore into being. It was black, uniformly so, butresses agleam with gun emplacements and hull running with scintillating runic patterns, scorching the bare eyes of those who beheld. Madness lay there, black madness and salvation.

The Nephilim was the flagship of Gabriel, blasphemous master of the Dark Faith, whose word was heard upon every world of the Imperium, his prophecies taken as fact by the Emperor himself, his zealous armies legend across the sphere of their influence.

You have spoken, you have sacrificed, you have begged us to illuminate. So we shall

The bridge of the ship seemed to twist with ruinous flame, the very stuff of its being melting in a flurry of arcane fire. Gabriel, an immense figure heads above these frail humans, strode forth, Terminator armored bodyguards ever fluttering about him as they slid forth from the half-nothingness of the teleport arrays action.

"You have my ear, little one. Speak. Speak and let us see if you are worthy of the Faith." He raised a great Crozius, a mighty spear-like construct that seemed to dance with the dark mirth of Chaos. "Are you worthy to bow before the Gods of Chaos, and to spread their word?"

OOC: I do hope you don't mind my fastforwading this, Chron.

IC: It had been hours. Days, perhaps. The time lost was unknowable to Khaberi, but the disciplines taught were priceless. The tiny warship that was once home to firm Republican pride was now a bloody altar to Chaos, crewmen who had decided to try and report her now dead, their blood congealing across their rotting corpses.

A scant fifty remained. Yet her knowledge had been enhanced, her desire for revenge upon Dratheria greatly extended. There were many other enemies - many others who equally deserved punishment. She scraped away a film of blood off a touchpad, and activated the database.

What was she looking for? It was obvious, to her. Loriiea must be rehomed. The Republic would pay for their inability to protect them, so there was, in truth, no home to be found there. They would merely be sacrificed once more, and their green world lay in ashes. It could not be returned.

She could, perhaps, convince the Chronosians to cede them a world. But what then? They would no longer be sons and daughters of Loriiea, they would be refugees, given life only by the whim of whatever Chronosian lord chose to grant them land.

No. A world was unfeasible. If they claimed a new world, they would become hunted, and easily destroyed. A ship, then.

She looked down a list of Republican vessels. So many useless. Even the grander Patrician-class vessels, capable of housing an entire Century, were not good enough. Then it hit her.

The Incandescence. It had been crewed with eighty thousand Loriieans, and another sixty thousand Travellians. A battleplate, she thought, would be worthy of her people. It had databanks ancient and numerous enough to allow them knowledge on all who lived - the fabricator units would provide them with the ability to self-repair, to self-supply. Provided they had enough to fuel the fusion and antimatter plants, they would, in reality, be untouchable.

The thought was now an intention. Out of the hundred-thousand or so who had survived, the Incandescence held the vast majority of the Loriiean survivors. It would be easy enough to fool them into rebellion - and, when she had, the next step, too, would take only a little more of a push.

Khorne spoke to her, or, perhaps, it was merely her madness. Perhaps both.

Kill them! Take what is yours! Slaughter those who would defy your right!

She nodded unconciously, no longer trying to ignore the voice.

She smiled, and opened a channel to Gabriel. "My lord. I have seen what I must do. The battleplate, named Incandescence, is home to the remainder of my people. I intend to take it. We are unhomed, but, soon, our very home will be the tool of our vengeance."